‘You gave a friend of mine this number an hour ago; apparently you have a business proposition to make.’
‘Is that you, Chaney?’
‘Please, try not to use my name.’
‘You’re worried someone could be listening in?’
‘In this day and age you’d be a fool not to. I’m pretty sure my phone’s secure, it’s yours I don’t know about.’
Fair comment, Markus thought. Unlike him, Sean Chaney was well known to the police and there was always a possibility that they were listening in to his communications. Markus had stayed under the radar to date and wanted things to remain that way.
‘Don’t worry about mine,’ Markus said.
‘So?’
‘Like I told your friend, we share a common problem. By working together we can eradicate it quite successfully.’
‘How can you be sure we have a common problem?’
‘Look, quit the bullshit, OK. You know we have because your fucking lackey just told you all about it. Otherwise, why’d you return my call?’
‘The thing is,’ Chaney replied, ‘I don’t understand your interest in this: you didn’t make that clear to my friend.’
‘Let’s just say we have the same competition. Does that suffice?’
‘There’s no need for sarcasm, buddy. I only want to know why you’re involved.’
Markus exhaled. ‘Here it is then: the two guys you want out of your hair are equally troublesome to me. You know who I’m referring to, right?’
‘I do.’
‘Good. I propose we work in partnership to eliminate the opposition.’
‘Eliminate is a strong term.’ Chaney was silent for a few seconds and Markus tried to determine what was giving the man pause. Before he could decide one way or the other, Chaney came back on the phone. ‘But it does describe my intention. How do you suggest we get this done?’
‘I take it you know where our rivals are holed up?’
‘I have addresses, yes, but no current whereabouts for them.’
‘It doesn’t matter about that. I know a way to draw them out.’ Continuing in phrases couched in careful terms, he explained what he required Chaney to do, and when.
‘It seems a bit… extreme.’
‘But something you’re willing to do?’
Again a pause followed, with Markus waiting patiently for the man to make a decision. When none was forthcoming he added some motivation. ‘You want these two men gone. Have your boys do as I asked, and I’ll see to eliminating our rivals. It’s a win-win deal for us both.’
‘We’ll see. I don’t even know who you are; how can you expect me to trust you when I know nothing about you or your background? For all I know you’re an undercover cop trying to sucker me into a conspiracy charge.’
‘Do I sound like a fucking cop?’
‘I need something more from you than that, buddy.’
‘Haven’t you been following the news?’
‘You’re talking about all those old bastards? You’re the one that capped Andrew Rington?’
‘Among others.’
‘You already did me a huge favour there. But, it was also because of that I ended up with a bullet in my leg, and why two of my guys had their asses kicked tonight.’
‘You can’t hold any of that against me. Rington’s son and his friend are the ones you should blame. It was them who came after the wrong guy. This is your opportunity to get them back… good and proper, man.’
Chaney grunted, and Markus could almost feel the smile in the man’s next words. ‘If you’re the man you claim to be, you’ve definitely proven your worth.’
‘I am.’ Markus smiled. ‘And after tonight you’ll be even more impressed when I hand you their heads in a basket.’
‘That I look forward to, buddy.’
‘We have a deal then?’
‘Deal.’
Chapter 33
While we made our final plans in the kitchen of Bridget Lanaghan’s home, I used the time to run through the ingrained habit of cleaning and checking my gun. I could disassemble and rebuild my SIG blindfolded, and going through the routine this time I did so in a methodical fashion, without once having to take my mind off the coming events.
‘I’m not worried about what we have to do, but how we’re going to avoid being arrested afterwards,’ I told Rink.
My friend was in a dark place, one that ensured he had no fear of incarceration, and all he cared about was neutralising the threat to his mom, and avenging his dad. He only shrugged as he too worked on his weapons. The Glock he’d employed earlier was his weapon of choice, as well as a KA-BAR combat knife he had honed to razor-sharpness.
I had brought my gun with me from Florida — carrying it in a hotbox under ‘official papers’ that would satisfy the scrutiny of Homeland Security, supplied to me by my old CIA handler, Walter Conrad, when he’d employed my services a few months ago. I should have handed back the papers at conclusion of the job, but Walter didn’t ask, so I didn’t offer. I had no idea how Rink got his hands on his weapons, but he was resourceful and acquiring firepower must have been his first task after he’d fled his mom’s bedside at the hospital that time. Watching him, though, he did not show any enthusiasm for either gun or knife, and I guessed that he preferred to end Markus’s life with his bare hands. If it weren’t for the fact that Markus had shown a penchant for firearms and edged weapons during the previous murders, I’d have been happy to go along empty-handed too. There was less chance of forensic evidence pointing back to a murder weapon if either of us ended up snapping his spine with a kick.
Rink checked his mom was OK.
While he was inside I waited in his father’s car, allowing them their privacy.
When Rink slid in beside me his eyes looked dry and hard.
‘Ready?’ I asked.
‘I’ve been thinking about what you said, about avoiding the cops. We can take the bastard at his house, but we can’t do him there.’ He nodded. ‘The trunk’s a tight fit but it will have to do while we take him out in the hills.’
We shared a look. This wouldn’t be the first time we had abducted a killer and taken him to a place of execution. This time was different though. I didn’t like the unfamiliar feeling creeping through my gut. On those occasions we’d been acting on sanctioned orders, to take out a known terrorist or war criminal. Much of what we had learned about Markus Colby — or whichever name he went by now — was based on supposition and hastily strung together theories.
‘I’ll do it myself,’ Rink said.
‘Like hell, I’m coming with you.’
‘Just remember that we are the good guys, brother.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, wondering how many of the original ring shared my misgivings when lynching Charles Peterson all those years ago.
On the way to Markus’s house we stopped off at a hardware store, the sign above the door stating: no job too small — whatever the hour. I wondered if their promise included abduction and execution. Avoiding the CCTV cameras as best I could, I grabbed a hessian sack, a crow bar and rolls of electricians’ tape. Waiting to pay, my basket looked like it contained a serial killer’s hand-kit, and I’m sure my face was burning as I handed cash to the teller and scuttled out of the store.
Rink drove to within a couple of blocks of the address on Clarendon Heights supplied to us by our friend. Harvey learned that Markus’s house had been built by his grandfather, who left it to his son in his will, and Markus had taken possession of it under his dad’s credentials. It struck me how easy it was to bamboozle officialdom when business was conducted at the end of a telephone: no one would pick up the disparity in age where the impostor didn’t present himself in person. What did surprise me was that Markus worked for a security company, subcontracting to the Federal Bureau of Prisons, and that their checks hadn’t been more thorough.